The Dance We Do
by miribee
Summary: An early Chrolli conversation. Set just after Grandeski saw them together while they were out running. *After attempting to figure out as much of Olli's story before he met Christian as I could, I've tried to stay true to it and filled in the gaps that remained*


Christian didn't know how it kept getting better with Olli, only that it did. He lay in the sultry aftermath of loving, Olli collapsed against him, the air around them thick and humid. After hours of exploring the hard lines of Olli's body, its tastes and textures and its undeniable masculinity, he was still dizzy from the blissful intensity of Olli coming deep inside him, still dazed from the sweet violence of his own climax. He couldn't stop wanting Olli, wanting to understand what it was about Olli that undid him, pulling him apart and making him new again.

They made love. That had become new with Olli; love was something they made, he and Olli together. Something elemental, tangible. Something he swore he could see and touch, that shimmered brightly between them, binding them close. Olli made him feel beautiful. Before he'd felt awkward and consumed by self-doubt but Olli gave him a grace he didn't know he had and they fitted together in ways that surprised him. The sight of their entwined bodies was intoxicating as the feel and he watched in fascination as they came together, seeing the continually shifting patterns of them. The play of light and shadow over flesh and muscle, their subtly changing shades as skin became heated and lust-flushed; the shapes created as they moved over, around and inside each other.

But the _better_ he found with Olli went beyond that. Olli's belief in him was implacable. An immovable force, so strong and sure it spiralled out and became absorbed within him too. It brought with it a confidence, a conviction that pushed him, pushed against all the self-doubt that had held him back, making him believe his dreams could now be made real.

He found it difficult to believe more people hadn't noticed. That little bubble of happiness he'd felt the first time he'd kissed Olli, truly kissed him, grew bigger until it threatened to overwhelm him and was now so much a part of him, he couldn't believe no one else saw it and realised the cause. It was becoming harder to pretend it wasn't there, to shout and sing to the world he was Olli's. He was Olli's, belonged heart and soul-deep.

Olli nuzzled against Christian's shoulder but instead of the languid relaxation that Christian usually felt, he sensed a subtle disquiet hovering beneath Olli's skin and smile. It nudged against the uneasiness that lingered over him after their encounter with Grandeski, fuelling the sickening fear that the price he would have to pay for his ambitions was losing Olli. Again those tiny prickles of anger crept through him as he remembered the lie he had told. It felt necessary but he hated it, hated the betrayal of Olli that was bound within it and the betrayal of himself. Guilt squirmed inside his belly, eating away at the quiet pleasure of lying next to Olli. The instinctive ease with which Olli wrapped himself around Christian caused his heart to tighten in fearful love and he pulled Olli closer, pulling himself deeper into the safety of Olli. In the low light, he watched as their hands met and played against each other's. He loved Olli's hands, they were strong and slim, and touched him in ways he didn't quite understand.

"Christian?"

"Humm?"

"What made you change your mind?"

"About what?"

"Us."

He stilled his fingers, withdrawing them slowly until his flattened palm lay flush against Olli's. It was a question he'd been expecting before now. Talking about the beginning of them wasn't something they had done much of, not really. He had been unwilling to go back and think about their false start, about the lies he had told. Olli seemed to understand and hadn't tried to push Christian by asking him to unpick that bewildering knot of emotions. But that wasn't the only reason. Sometimes just looking at Olli made it impossible to think in complete words, let alone string together a coherent sentence and when they were alone other things came up which became far more important than talking, reducing both of them merely to stuttering syllables; good, yes, please, more, harder, love, you.

"You probably already know."

Olli pushed lightly against his palm.

"I'm not sure I do."

That uneasy flutter deep inside slowly started to spread, carrying with it the fear that the disquiet he felt from Olli was because Christian had pushed him away and denied the truth of them, just because of Grandeski. His stomach twisted with nervous anxiety as he searched for ways to explain, running through his mind all the things he could do to distract Olli and avoid the inevitable. But Olli shifted up and held his gaze. As he wondered if he'd ever seen a colour as pure as the green of Olli's eyes, Christian saw in them a calm tenacity that told him Olli wasn't going to be dissuaded and Christian knew he owed Olli this. He slid his fingers back through Olli's, clinging to the steadying strength he found there. Hoping Olli couldn't feel the clumsy pounding of his heart, he began to make sense of what had gone before.

"I couldn't get you out of my dreams."

He waited for Olli to say something, but there was only the muffled sounds of the world beyond; the rumble of traffic, the slam of a car door, laughter and footsteps, the faint rhythm of music somewhere far away, all making him more aware of the patient stillness between himself and Olli.

"I couldn't get you out of my head. Couldn't stop thinking about you. All I thought about, all the time, was you."

Olli, always there, haunting him, invading him and not letting go. And that night, in the middle of a dance floor, amongst a jumble of faces, bodies and noise, watching the shadow of his fears turn into something horribly real before his eyes.

"When I saw you with that guy, it felt like I was going crazy. I thought about you all night, and when I slept, I dreamt about you again."

Images of Olli, pressed naked against a man that wasn't him but should have been. A shaking, sweating fear at the blurred sight, reaching out to pull Olli back to him, where Christian knew he belonged, but Olli always just a fraction too far away. His gut churning in terror at the thought that Olli was gone forever. Crying out in soundless misery, waking trembling and shivering against sheets damp with perspiration and tears. Hearing the sounds of the waking day with dread, knowing when he met Olli's eyes, he had no strength to fight.

"What would you have done if I hadn't come to you?"

"Regretted my stupidity for the rest of my life." He heard resentment clot his voice thick and heavy; the blunt anger that was directed at no one other than himself.

"I was never going to give up on you." Olli's voice was gentle, making Christian's heart beat with an erratic emotion that hovered between joy and relief, sharply aware of what might have been lost.

"I was terrified you had."

Olli shook his head, "No, I'm too stubborn, especially about something as important as you."

Important to Olli. He knew it long before he accepted the love that lay behind it, had felt it sinking into him every time Olli looked at him since that day at the boxing club. It echoed through overheard conversations that caused a slow-burning realisation to snap into a decision about Coco and his future. It reverberated across every fight they'd ever had, when he was willing to jeopardise his health and Olli couldn't let him. Important was what Olli was to him, turning the unthinkable into something undeniable.

"So, you dreamt about me," Olli said, with a faint slyness, "What did you dream?"

Smiling, he nudged Olli's legs with his, "Not what you're thinking. Well, not all the time."

Olli gave a small chuckle and dropped a light kiss on Christian's chest.

"I suppose I should be sorry for being such a distraction, but I'm not."

"Neither am I." He felt his face flush unexpectedly at the admission. "Not any more."

Olli rested his chin on his free hand and looked up at him.

"Was I really that much of a shock to you?"

That was the question he had tried not to ask himself for fear of the answer. Now he had to, searching through the maze of memories, recalling a gaggle of teenagers roaming though the woods, teasing and laughing, playing tricks and daring each other to climb higher or jump further. The shy smiles traded between girls and boys and whispered conversations about occasional secret fumblings. In the midst of those stolen moments, when his body experienced confusing flashes of barely understood want, was there a part of him that felt those yearnings for a boy?

Maybe, maybe not, but even if he had what he felt for Olli had a power all its own. Nothing before had prepared him for that hungry rush of tumbling, aching desire in which he'd been caught, turning everything that went before into a pale imitation.

"Yes, but not for the reason you think. You came out of nowhere. It didn't feel like love, it felt like being hit by a ten ton truck."

A small smile touched Olli's lips, "It felt like that for me too. Like being caught in a whirlwind."

He moved up, straddling Christian's hips between his legs and pushing his arms out wide, "I guess we're not in Kansas anymore."

"If you're going to compare me to Judy Garland, I'm leaving you."

"How many gay men clichés have you got rattling around that head of yours?"

"You're the one quoting Hollywood musicals, not me."

Olli laughed and bent down for a lazy, open-mouthed kiss. When he drew back, he stared at Christian, with love and such easy acceptance it caused his blood to hum with amazement at how open he could be with Olli; no secrets, no lies, no need to deny or hide everything that he felt, no matter how small or scary.

"You frightened me."

Olli held his gaze evenly, tightening his fingers through Christian's, "I know."

"You seemed so sure of yourself and I never was, not about most things and about nothing after I met you."

"I wasn't sure, only of how I felt about you."

"But you knew you were gay."

"No, I knew I liked guys, I like women too, I just don't seem to fall in love with them."

Christian let the words hang in the air, still struggling with what it meant for him. After a small silence Olli said, "No regrets?"

"None."

"But you are still worried."

"So are you."

Olli pulled a dismissive face, "What am I worried about?"

"Grandeski."

"Oh, yeah, that's true."

"And what am I worried about?"

"Gregor."

His breath stilled at Olli's simple, calm acknowledgment of this one fear. The world could be full of Grandeskis and he wouldn't give damn, all his doubt and uncertainty came back to one person. His brother was the biggest recipient of all the lies that passed his lips. It didn't matter that he'd tried to tell Gregor the truth, it only mattered that he hadn't yet succeeded and every day he failed, another lie was added to all the others.

"Do you really think Gregor would turn his back on you?"

He looked up at the ceiling, trying to calm the churning dread as the question hit deep in his gut.

"I don't know what I would do if he did."

"He's never had a problem with me and he couldn't understand it when he thought you did, and no, don't tell me it's different because you're his brother."

He sighed heavily beneath the hand that was now laid firmly over his mouth to prevent the argument Olli knew he would make. Olli was right, but that didn't stop the fear from winning; again. Olli moved his hand, brushing gentle fingers over Christian's face.

He said softly, "It's never easy, just like it's not fair. It's not like you would ever have to say, 'Mom, I need to tell you I'm straight, please don't freak out'."

Something scrapped at the back of Olli's words, something that told Christian they came near to a seldom spoken truth.

"Is that what happened, when you told your mother?"

Olli blinked slowly, then dropped his eyes away.

"Something like that," His voice became a little harder, flavouring the air with a quiet bitterness that Christian hadn't heard before. "A perfect little middle-class meltdown."

"What did she say?"

"She cried, asking me how I could do that to her. Telling me how awful it was going to be when people found out. Nothing I wasn't expecting. Then she told me to leave."

"She threw you out?"

"Only for one night, then she got scared someone would find out and ask her why. It didn't surprise me, we never really got on, when I told her I liked kissing guys, she took it as a personal insult." The clipped resentment still lay heavy over Olli's words, telling of a hurt that Christian hadn't considered he carried. He had been too caught up in his own mess of confusion to think what Olli might have gone through; gone through alone.

"What about Charlie?"

"I didn't see her much when I was growing up, or Lars, my mother fell out with them. So it felt like I was the weird one of the family, not her."

"So it wasn't just about liking guys?"

"No, it was about being me, not being quite what she wanted." Christian ran his hand down Olli's back, gentling him, trying to soothe away the faint fragility that had settled over him.

"I left home not long after that, came here to find Charlie. My mother gave up on me when she realised I wasn't going through a phase. Haven't seen or spoken to her since. Right now, she's probably sacrificing live chickens in the hope I'll straighten out. And sticking pins into voodoo dolls of Charlie."

He tried to smile but Christian saw the light in his eyes dim, losing even the flashes of anger that had glimmered, and a need to protect Olli, even from pain long passed, rose up. He pulled Olli to him, drawing him into a soft kiss and tugging him down so Christian could hold him close. Olli snuggled into him and slowly the tension slipped from him and he grew pliant again in Christian's arms.

"When I was a kid, I used to pretend I was adopted, just so I could have a reason for why I didn't fit."

"God Olli, I'm sorry."

Olli looked up at him, "Isn't that what every kid thinks at some point? Didn't you?"

He thought back to the quiet sadness that always seemed to shroud his mother, the dramatic mood swings of his father, depending on what had been won or lost that day, making Christian constantly uncertain. He was always anxious for Gregor to be home, always worrying that if he wasn't bad things would happen, bad things that Christian couldn't stop or make right. He would sit at the top of the stairs, late into the night, having crept out of his bed at the sound of the front door banging shut, and listen for the sound of his mother's tears. He grew up not fearing monsters under the bed or ghosts in the dark, but fearing one of the people he loved most in the world, whose inability to rise above a single weakness had the power to turn him from hero to monster between the dawn of a new day and its end.

"No," he replied, "I never wanted it to be different, just better."

Olli moved to his side. Keeping his legs draped over Christian's, he lay his head back on the pillow and with a gentle caution asked, "What was he like, your father?"

If Olli felt the faint tremor beneath his skin, he didn't show it, he only stroked his hand across Christian's stomach in slow, careful caresses. After a long, heavy silence he heard himself speak.

"He was the first person to tell me I could be good at something. After he started teaching Gregor how to box, I bugged him to teach me until he gave in. He said boxing was more about skill than strength, about being smart and I was smart like that. He used to take us on these camping trips and at night we'd sit around the fire, eating these vile canned beans and he tell us about the greatest boxers there had ever been. He told me I could be as good as them ..."

It was the memory of those times, times that he rarely let himself remember, that had resurfaced less than a year ago, by another fire in the woods. He'd opened his heart to Olli that night because of those memories and he hadn't even realised it.

"Sometimes, the last thing he'd tell us before we fell asleep was about the day he met my mom, and when he knew he would marry her. I don't think she ever knew he told us that. He only told us that story when we went on those trips and it was just us."

He faltered, finally beaten into silence by his own past. Olli brushed his cheek against Christian's shoulder.

"So you have good memories."

He hated the tears burning at the back of his eyes. They felt like weakness and defeat because boys don't cry. Only he did, always with silent shame when he was alone and no-one could see. He didn't want Olli to see his tears, not because he was ashamed, only because he wanted Olli to know this part of him. Because he knew he could give it to Olli and still be safe.

"I always knew he loved me and that he was proud of me. I just … I don't ever want to let him down."

Olli held him with a look of quiet conviction, "You're not letting your father down because you're gay, Christian."

He swallowed hard, trying to get rid of the awkward lump of emotion lodged in his throat.

"I know," he replied and when Olli raised his eyebrows, he repeated, "I do know that. But what if I'm stopped from boxing just because … because I am gay? What if I lose the best opportunity I'm ever going to get because I love you?"

Olli's fingers pressed gently against his lips, stilling them and the soft tirade of anxiety that had begun to build inside him.

"We'll just have to make sure you don't."

Olli lent forward and kissed him with the same loving tenderness that always made it right and made it better all over again. He let the kiss sink into him, let the reassurance it held comfort him. Olli's lips drifted lower, trailing delicate kisses over his all too willing body.

"Olli … How many boys did you kiss?" The question came in a blurted whisper. He flinched inwardly at its sound because he really didn't want Olli to stop. He wanted Olli's mouth and its delicious warmth dancing across his flesh, wanted Olli's tongue tracing those lazy patterns down and further down as his body flared again with that sweet, consuming heat. He held himself still, caught breathless between the sensation of Olli's strong hands holding him firm and his sudden need to know.

Olli murmured against his skin, "Believe it or not, I don't keep a running total."

"No, I meant before you told your mother."

"Oh, just the one."

"Was that the guy you told me about."

"Told you about?"

"When we were talking online, you said there was a guy, that you kissed, who you knew you'd kiss again."

Olli drew back, "Yeah, that was him. He was older than me, we were at this party, getting drunk on some godawful home brew and he kissed me. It confused me but it didn't stop me thinking about him all the time."

A hot flush of recognition slide down Christian's spine.

"How old where you?"

"Seventeen."

"You had your first time with a guy at seventeen?"

A sudden flush of colour flooded Olli's face, together with an odd little expression of discomfort that Christian didn't like.

"No, my first time was when I was thirteen,"

Christian's brain went into a flat spin.

Olli said, "Does that shock you?"

"It scares the hell out of me."

"It scared me too."

He studied Olli carefully, unsettled by the sudden catch in his voice that sounded small and uncertain.

"Doesn't sound like a good start."

Olli shrugged, "First times aren't always," Then he waggled his eyebrows suggestively, "You should be grateful you were in such good hands."

Christian reached up to cup Olli's cheek, stroking his thumb over the faint stubble and the shallow curve beneath his cheekbone.

"I am," he whispered.

"We'll get there, Christian," Olli said softly, "Wherever it is we need to be. There's no rush, told you I'm not giving up."

Christian's heart shivered at the way Olli said _we_, proving that no matter what, Christian wasn't alone and that Olli was beside him. No longer was it just him, it was we, us, together. It was another way Olli had of saying he loved him. Maybe that was why it kept getting better, because Olli had so many ways of saying love or maybe Christian had found so many ways of hearing it. It made him want, so badly, to find his own ways of saying love, to show all the lovely, dizzying, wondrous emotions swirling around his heart.

"Do you still want to dance with me?"

Olli's eyes grew dark and mischievous and he smiled, dipping his face down close to Christian's.

"I like the dance we do already." He pushed his groin closer into Christian's, causing him to draw a gasping breath at the softly intense sensation followed by a low laugh at the sweet insinuation.

"What, a horizontal mambo?"

"I prefer to think of it as a tango, it's sexier."

He smiled and pulled Olli's mouth toward his, breathing in Olli's quiet laughter as they kissed, giving himself up to the way Olli made him feel; safe, strong and beautiful. It didn't matter how or why Olli made him feel this way, it only mattered that it was real.

Olli settled down next him and again their hands found each other's, fingertips meeting and caressing, fingers curling about and around, gently weaving back and forth in patterns of gentle possession.

There might be no rush, but that bubble of happiness wasn't going anywhere and couldn't be contained forever, no matter what fear lay beyond it. It would keep growing inside him, making his life better, making it impossible to keep his love for Olli hidden and quiet. It wasn't quiet, it was loud and strong and almost, almost fearless. Christian brushed his lips against Olli's hair and whispered softly,

"We'll dance together one day, Olli, in front of the whole world. I promise."


End file.
